


A steamy workout

by asterCrash



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks, Canon Disabled Character, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Gym Sex, Nook Eating, Sauna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterCrash/pseuds/asterCrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the battlescarred older woman with the prosthetic arm started doing one-armed push-ups while you were enjoying a relaxing morning in the sauna, well, you just couldn't help yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A steamy workout

You’re in the sauna when you first see her. The selling point on this whole stupid hivestem with its cramped corridors and cigarette stains in the carpet is that it has a fucking sauna and doesn’t cost the fins off your face to live there. The steam room is attached to a shitty little gym with a few weights, a treadmill and a single bike. You’d have liked to find a place with an actual pool, but no inner city apartment has a pool big enough to actually stretch yourself out, and the water in all of the ones you saw was far too gross to breathe in. So next best thing is a sauna, and this one is good. Nice hardwood seats lacquered enough that they don’t get soggy but no so much that they feel like plastic. Space to breathe with your lungs but tight enough that if you really turn up the steam you can open your gills a little and let the vapour run along your insides. It’s all you need after a hard night of bullshit, to just come in here and breathe like you were meant to.

She doesn’t look like she came here for the waters though. Dressed in tight running pants and a singlet you can see she’s got no gills but what she lacks in seadweller biological bling she makes up for by looking hardcore as fuck. Her left shoulder is a wreck of scars, with a prosthetic arm strapped in under the singlet but over her bra. Considering how beat up the metal of her replacement looks she must get a crazy amount of usage out of it, though from the way it moves so naturally the thing must have cost a fortune. You’re pretty confident she can’t see you ogling her through the glass door of the sauna from where she’s standing on the one ratty yoga mat your building saw fit to provide so you take your time tracing the scars up from her shoulder with your eyes. 

You have training in sticking people back together after a scrap, so you can tell she lost that arm in some kind of explosion from the thousand tiny shrapnel scars that starburst down from where metal meets flesh. Woven underneath and above those thin lines are deeper cuts from what looks to be lots of different weapons. These ones you can see on her remaining arm as well, wherever you can see bare skin. Clearly she was a fighter before the explosion and losing that arm did nothing to slow her down. You trace a particularly interesting curve of angry cobalt on the gray of her neck up to the point where it curves around her chin. She’s lucky a hit like that didn’t relieve her of her entire head but it just adds to the majesty of her appearance. A line from some tawdry romance comes back to you looking over her.

“You’re a fuckin’ wreck a hard living,” and you don’t know why you said it out loud but then her eyes are on you and you notice for the first time one of her glasses lenses has been blacked out. She might have lost the eye in the same explosion that took her arm, but you couldn’t say from the excellent way her face is framed by a flowing shock of untamed hair. She gives you a cocky smile like she’s used to people staring and dumps her towel to the side. You don’t even bother to keep your ganderbulbs to yourself as she lifts off the singlet to strip down to just her sports bra and pants. 

You turn up the heat on the sauna and bask in the extra steam. And then, because fuck it, you take your top off too. You’d hate to be the only one sweating it out in here. Unlike her you didn’t come here to work out, once you discard your top down onto your jeans all you’ve got left is a towel strewn over your lap, hiding a pair of cute fuchsia panties with a bow on them because that’s just how you roll sometimes. You look back to check if she’s as flustered by the sight of you topless as you hope she is, unfortunately at some point during your little strip show she’s turned her back to you. This isn’t enough to put you out though, as it gives you plenty of unobstructed visual access to the artwork of scars strewn over the grey of her thorax, and the subtle shift in muscles as she uses her one biological arm to curl a hand weight upwards. 

The repetition is almost hypnotic, the way she slows down right at the top before a final burst of energy, the way her lower back smoothes out as she lowers the bar to her side. You try to pretend that the moisture beneath your towel is entirely due to the steam. After a few sets of that she drops the hand weight to the ground, like an asshole, and heads instead for the bench press. Using her prosthetic only she hoists entire thing skyward. You’d be tempted to believe all that power came from the metal but you know the full weight of that has to be travelling down her spine and straight into her thighs. Her posture is immaculate, clearly she’s practiced this little trick. Her back still to you she lowers the bar out over her shoulders and lifts her factory condition hand to hold it in place. It’d be tempting to believe she sticks her ass out in your direction intentionally, but the wide spread of her feet and the position of her hold on the bar indicate this might just be good form. It doesn’t stop you from appreciating the view of those muscular glutes clenching and relaxing as she dips up and down. You’d love to see her do that in heels, legs splayed out, putting herself on display for you. Your nipples stiffen at the fantasy and it is far too warm in here to blame that on the temperature.

She keeps going through her workout and you keep ogling her, but if it’s a problem she doesn’t show it in the brief times she makes eye contact with you. You swear you see the glint of a fang in her smirk, like she’s daring you to keep watching. You meant to only be here a half hour, that passed half an hour ago and if she keeps going you might be here all perigree. She’s sweating as much as you are now, a light cobalt tint glistening on her skin in little rivulets. Discarding the kettlebell she’d been swinging she reaches for the leather harness holding her metal arm onto her shoulder. There’s a click and a crash as it disengages and the technological marvel clatters to the floor unminded. She gives it a thoughtless kick with one foot to push it off the mat and then faces you, for the first time. No little side glances with a smile, no checking over the shoulder to see if the cute troll with the pointy pink nipples is still checking her out, she stares you full in the face, expression set and determined. Then she falls forward. You don’t let out your breath the entire way down, not until you see her catch herself, one-handed, inches away from faceplanting directly into the ground. You left out a glub unintentionally, and a little puff from your gills sends the steam hanging in the air to spiral around the room. She looks up at you, glasses riding down her nose where the fall almost jolted them off, and for the first time you can see a hint of what wreckage lies behind that blacked out lens. She’s making eye contact, all fangs and growls as she heaves herself up into a pushup position and you feel your bulge pressing against the front of your panties, trying to make its way out into the steamy air and get a piece of that blueblood for itself. You don’t even bother to deny it, bringing a hand up to your rumblesphere to massage the flesh roughly, trying to imagine her calloused hand in place of your own. She dips down to the ground again and it looks like it must be a strain but she goes slow, she’s doing it proper. You imagine her above you like that, propped up on one arm as she lowers herself into you, cobalt bulge stretching out your nook in a way you haven’t had in sweeps. You want to take off those glasses and see her in full, run your tongue across every scar she’s got, open some of the old ones on your claws. You’re not sure if this is pitch or pale or flushed and you don’t give a crap. You just want to keep watching her push herself off the ground, again and again, watch the rising and falling of that musclebound ass over her shoulder. Your bulge has wiggled itself free at this point and you can only imagine there’s a noticeable tent to your towel because you’re never taking your eyes off this woman.

You’re about three seconds away from throwing the towel off and wrapping a hand around yourself when she’s finally had enough. You have no idea how long she was going, you lost track of time a while back and you weren’t counting to begin with. She gets up to her knees, shaking but strong, and for the first time you can see the outline of her bulge pressed against the tight fabric of her pants. She must have unsheathed during all those push ups because fuck knows you did as well. She discards her glasses to the floor beside her arm and walks towards you, knocking the door open with the shoulder her prosthetic would normally be clipped into. The steam does its best to escape out the opening before it closes behind her, and in the whirling humidity she takes a seat on the bench next to you. 

You have no idea what to say. The material of her pants is practically see through from this close up and you can see the curvature of her cobalt appendage. Even without her glasses she must be able to notice your bulge pressing up into your towel, if not the layer of fuchsia sweat running down you that has nothing to do with the sauna. Fortunately, she breaks the silence before you have to think of something.

“Suck my bulge, seadweller.”

You consider acting indignant. You consider telling her to go fuck herself, or better, telling her to do you first, but frankly, banter isn’t on your mind right now, so you just give an “ok” and slide off the bench to get between her legs. Your towel drifts down to the floor as you get off, catching on your bulge as it goes, and you give an involuntary chirr as the fabric rubs roughly down your length. If she’s impressed to see your colour when you’re finally exposed to her, she makes no sign. She does seem like a “fuck the hemospectrum” type, but you normally get at least some reaction when people find out they’re about to pail a potential heiress.

She parts her knees for you and you let yourself in. You can smell the sweat dripping off her, barely masking the musky scent coming off her crotch. You can feel your own bulge trying to wriggle in time with hers as you watch it move torpidly around on itself inside her pants. Her legs feel damp with the humidity of the room and sweat running all over her, her muscles are hot and tight beneath the fabric. You knead her thighs to try and work out the tension, prompting a moan from above at the impromptu massage. She briefly gives you some relief by rubbing at your horn beds before dropping her arm back down to the bench. Looking up at her you can see just how trashed she is after that workout. You wonder briefly at what drives a woman to push herself to such exhaustion, presumably on a pretty regular basis. You’re betting it’s tied into however she’s managed to get this many scars in this many places, but maybe she’s just trying to compensate for the prosthetic, maybe this is her way of saying “fuck you” to a world that would very, very rapidly cull her for her presumed weakness at the sight of her disability. You try not to think too hard about it however because that way lies pale feelings and you just want to fuck right now. After trying to keep the last piece of shit together you really, really don’t need another moirail for a while. You sink your teeth into her thigh to get things back on a blacker course. “I can’t fucking well suck you off through these pants so are you taking them off or should I shred em?”

She gives a groan, as if she isn’t the one about to get an anonymous blowjob from fucking royalty and leverages her hips off the bench, pushing her crotch dangerously into your face. The smell is kind of overpowering this close up, and you can see all her abs tensing up along the surface of her stomach. She actually has all the muscle definition you only see in those sleazy porn magazines with guys dressed up in sexy mockeries of actual uniforms. Hell looking at her she could be a model of the violent kind of pitch pornography. You can just imagine her all chains and whips, some helpless brownblood tied to a wall while she uses his bulge like a sex toy. You peel the fabric down her hips, trying not to lose yourself to her smell, so much stronger with nothing between the two of you. Once you get the pants off that gorgeous ass of hers (you may have copped a feel on the way through), she lets out a sigh and collapses back onto the seat, lazily letting you draw the remainder of the material off her legs. She’s now reclining in front of you wearing only her sports bra, and frankly you’re not going to be bothered going up for it any more than she could be bothered to wiggle out of it.

You run your fingers cautiously up the length of her legs, giving her calves a squeeze along the way and making sure to run your touch over as many of her scars as possible. Her bulge gives a lazy flick towards your hand as it approaches, landing with a wet slap on her thigh. You reach out to stroke it and let it curl around you, marvelling in the way even this part of her feels rough and calloused. You know cerulean bloods are some of the longer lived land dwellers but it’s hard to imagine how hard someone would have to live to come out looking like her. She can’t be more than a century old, though she would have been fully grown when you were still a grub age differences seem a stupid thing to care about when you’re functionally immortal. You wonder how long you’ll remember her when she’s gone. Shit, that was pale again. You give her bulge an unpleasant squeeze to make sure she’s still paying attention and mark yourself successful when you hear the sharp intake of her breath. 

You figure if one place on her is soft to the touch it would be the inside, so you get nice and close to her nook, keeping her bulge distracted above you with a hand resting on her thigh. The smell of her is so intense this close, she half smells of the ocean and it’s almost enough to make you nostalgic. You plant a kiss on her nook lips, mouthing against them like you’re a nine sweeps old again and you need to impress an older woman with your kissing skills, exaggerating everything to show off how mature you are for your age. You’re pretty sure the subtlety is lost on your gym buddy, but she moans above you all the same, staccato chirrups follow as you suck hard on one lip to pull her open and run your tongue along the inside of her walls. You give the base of her bulge a flick with the tip of your tongue before kissing her nook deeply, like you did with your first boyfriend at seven sweeps before anyone thought to tell you not to stick your entire tongue down their throat. Deep in here she’s soft, vulnerable like nowhere else on her body. Her moans turn to whines as you run your tongue along her inner walls, swirling around in patterns that have no meaning to her and come like a practiced routine to you. You push up with the tip of your tongue hard where the roof of her nook shares some nerves with her sheathe and she screams a little for you, high pitched like you wouldn’t think she was capable of. Her hand is on your head but far too uncoordinated to find your horns beds, instead just tangling itself in your hair and running fingernails hard across your scalp. It feels amazing and you can feel your bulge slapping wetly against your thighs as the sensation rides down your spine to pool between your hips.

Your hand continues to work her bulge while you’re eating her out, but when it starts constricting against you tighter you decide to pull out your a-game. In one careful, agonisingly slow move you drag your tongue along the roof of her nook, giving her lips one parting kiss as you draw yourself out of her and, without breaking contact, run the tip of your tongue from the top of her entrance to the base of her bulge and along her full length. Her composure breaks in the best way possible, hand clenching into a fist in your hair, her one good eye closing in ecstasy as she shouts loud and guttural and bucks her hips up towards your face. You feel the tip of her bulge trying to twine around your tongue and close your lips around it to suck hard. You replace your hand around her base and hold her firmly in place, sucking her out into a straight line, pursing your lips hard to squeeze every little bit of pleasure out of her. She hardly seems in control of her body anymore, abs twitching wildly as she puts her full weight onto her shoulders and tries to mash more of her crotch into your face, still vocalising as loudly as possible. You think she’s purring under it all but you can’t make it out over the gasped breaths between bursts of expletives and declarations of how good you feel. As if you needed the validation.

Eventually she gets her hand out of your hair and taps your shoulder a few times in quick succession. It feels like a nonverbal safeword so you get your hand and face off her crotch immediately, the satisfaction of watching her pour cerulean slurry all over herself would never be worth the risk of hurting someone, even a jackass who asks people for sex in an apartment gym. She takes a few seconds and swallows a few times before she’s able to speak, you make sure not to look put out, if she needs to stop she needs to stop, you’ll just go back to your own apartment to jack off furiously, no hard feelings

“Get the fuck inside me right now”

You don’t even bother with a ‘yes ma’am’ as she lays herself down on the bench for you. You jump to your feet and quickly wiggle out of your most likely horribly stained underwear, discarding them on the floor with her pants. She actually bothers to finally take that sports bra off and drops it in the pile of “clothing forever ruined by the amount of bodily fluids absorbed therein”. You position yourself on top of her, and it’s nowhere near as sexy as it was in your head when you were imagining her doing pushups into you, but at this point your bulge would be ready to go for anything. You hold back a little while your bulge teases at her nook’s entrance, making sure to check to see if this is something she’s still cool with. There’s not a lot of time for negotiation to be had in an anonymous sauna fuck but if you’re going to be culled it’s not going to be because you were too horny to get consent. She gives you a nod and you lean your hips into hers, her lips parting like water as you spear your way inside, bulge twisting and coiling to rub against her walls in all the best feeling places. She’s so warm and so soft where her walls squeeze around you. Your tip finds her seedflap in no time at all and you give out a sigh as you feel her take you in, collapsing onto her chest from the feeling of release as you’re able to start letting your material out into her. She grunts beneath you from the sensation of being filled, probably been as long for her as it’s been for you, maybe she’s got a shitty breakup story to match the dry spell but it’s too pale a topic to bring up while you’ve got your whole bulge stuffed up her and you still haven’t even gotten her name, you’re not about to start digging into romantic history. 

You reach a hand down between you, wrangling her bulge down and around your own so she can get into you. You’re grateful you got such an excellent pre-game show before, otherwise you might not be damp enough downstairs to take all of her on the first try, as it is she slides into you like a fish through water. You spread your thighs out as much as you can without falling off the wooden bench, trying to give her as much room as possible to get into you. It pays off pretty soon, you tingle all over as your seedflap welcomes her tip and then you feel her slurry begin to shoot into you in a smooth stream of warmth that coils around your insides, filling you up like a good meal. You press your rumblespheres against hers and look into her eyes, trying to enjoy the moment without feelings getting in the way. Her lips look so inviting but you still have no idea what her name is, and unless ogling her for an hour counts as conversation you’ve exchanged maybe four sentences. Fuck it, you want her and feelings be damned you need a name to put to a pailing this good.

“Hey, push-up chick, you got a name?”

“Yeah, it’s push-up chick, nice to meet you.” How she’s finding time to sass you when you’re both bulge deep in each other is beyond you.

“Freaking ha ha. I wanna know, what do I call you?”

“Ugh,” she lets out, because obviously giving people your name is the most intimate thing you could do with a stranger “it’s Vriska, my name’s Vriska.”

“Vriska, can I kiss you?”

“Shit, tell me your name first”

“Sauna chick.” She just glares at you for that one. It’s surprisingly endearing. “Meenah. Call my Meenah.”

“Well then yeah, Meenah, you can kiss me.”

You barely wait for her to finish before lowering your head down to meet her lips. You’re gentle, not that she needs it, and you run your fangs along her lower lip just to remind her they’re there. Your tongues meet for short, furtive licks, rolling with the rhythm of your lips moving together, the contact so soft in comparison to everything else you’ve seen of her so far. You want to see more. You love the way she’s filling you up and you send the rest of your material into her with one long push as she sucks on your lower lip, nibbling delicately with her teeth at your sensitive skin. She’s still letting out slurry into you as you feel your bulge retract out of her and back into your sheathe, so you lift your hips just a little and squeeze her bulge inside you, trying to milk the last few drops out. She sighs into your mouth and it’s too cute after seeing her tough as nails routine.

“Hey, so I’m in hiveblock number 413 if you ever want to drop by or something. Maybe not like this, but just chilling would be nice, if you’re interested.” You don’t want to scare her off but you really want to see her again. You’re not getting feelings, she just seems like she’d be fun to hang out with and probably has lots of amazing stories and an interesting life history and she’s really hot and you’re not getting feelings.

She lets out a moan as her tip releases from your seedflap, the momentary absence before your flap closes itself sends a shiver down your own spine and that shakes her bulge out of you. You’d feel bereft at the loss but you’re so full of her, warm and tight inside even without her bulge. “Yeah, I guess that’s a thing I could do sometime. You know, if I’m not busy with all this awesome stuff I’m doing these days.”

You’re not getting feelings. You’re not.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated, what worked, what didn't work, what would you like to have seen more of, what would you like to have seen less of, etc.


End file.
